I’ve never been so conflicted by someone’s touch. I want to fall into him and not come up for air until our bodies can’t be separated, but at the same time I want to get far, far away from him until my life transforms from the bright technicolor I crave back to the safety of the dreary gray I’ve grown accustomed to.

Being this close to Kai is dangerous. His sage-and-peppercorn scent floods my senses and ignites a fire inside of me.

“Olivia.” God, the way he says my name, I feel it in my core. What is happening to me? “It’s only been six weeks. You’re exactly where you should be at this stage. You’re not walking with a limp. You don’t need the crutches anymore. There’s no swelling. Your quadricep activation is getting better and it’ll continue to get better as we go. So what’s up? What’s upsetting you?”

I bite my bottom lip to keep my thoughts from spilling out. My grip on reality is slipping by the second.

“I told you; I think we should be increasing the frequency of our sessions to speed up the process.”

He leans back in his chair. “And I told you that we’re already meeting every day. I’m not going to push you harder than your body can handle to get you back on that field. You and your health are more important.”

I haven’t been more important than the game of soccer in a long time.

I wipe my hands down my face. “You’re right. I just—”

He cuts me off. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“What?”

“Did you say I’m right?”

I press my pointer finger into the wall of muscle he calls a chest. “Shut your ass up. I’ve said you’re right before.” I start to pull my finger back, but he lays his hand on top of mine, keeping it there.

“Mmm, I don’t recall.”

“Well that’s probably because it doesn’t happen often.”

“I can think of multiple times where I was right and you wouldn’t admit it.”

“Name one,” I challenge. My hand is still pressed firmly against his chest, but I don’t dare think about that or look down at the sight.

“How about when we were sixteen painting Old Man Underwood’s house with the aerosol cans, and I told you to press and release quickly not press and hold?”

“Ahh, I can see how you misunderstood. You weren’t right, you were right adjacent.”

A deep chuckle escapes his mouth. “Right adjacent, huh?”

“Yeah, see if I had just held it for a second less, the can wouldn’t have blown up in my face.”

We fall into a fit of laughter, but the accelerated rate of his heartbeat pulsing under my palm causes the laughter to die in my throat. Space. I need space.